When was the last time you had a nightmare? Nightmares are often a window into our deepest fears—not only on a personal level, but also into those that resonate within societies and communities. In cinema, nightmares are rarely merely individual psychological events. They often function as collective expressions of fear shaped by history, politics, and social structures.
In this sense, nightmares become a language through which trauma speaks when ordinary language is no longer sufficient. They appear when memories refuse to remain hidden and when experiences are too intense or fragmented to be expressed in a linear narrative form.
In films that deal with migration, displacement, and structural violence, nightmares often serve as symbolic representations of lived reality. They reflect how trauma persists long after the original event has passed.
For people who have experienced forced migration, the mind often struggles to distinguish between the past and the present. Memories become vivid and unstable. Cinema reflects this by breaking with realism and introducing distorted images, supernatural elements, or fragmented narrative structures that mirror this psychological instability.
What makes nightmares particularly powerful in storytelling is that they blur the line between inner and outer reality. A haunted room in a film is never just about ghosts. It’s also about guilt, memory, loss, and social pressure. Nightmares thus become a bridge between personal psychology and collective history. They enable filmmakers to show what societies often refuse to acknowledge directly—especially when it comes to violence, displacement, and inequality.
This concept is crucial to understanding the two films discussed here, as both use supernatural or dreamlike elements not as mere embellishment but as a narrative necessity. They transform invisible trauma into a visible form and make emotional and historical experiences accessible to the audience.
The trauma of forced migration, particularly on the African continent, is deeply intertwined with Europe’s colonial history, which was marked by the exploitation of land and people. This historical context is crucial for understanding contemporary migration patterns, as the present cannot be separated from the structures of the past. Colonial systems reorganized entire regions through resource extraction, forced labor, and imposed political borders that often ignored existing cultural and ethnic realities.
These artificial borders continue to shape conflicts and displacement to this day. Many modern migration routes follow patterns that emerged during and after colonial rule, with economic systems designed to benefit European powers while colonized regions remained economically constrained. This led to long-term structures of dependency that continue to shape global inequality. Migration is therefore not merely a personal decision but often the result of systemic conditions that limit opportunities and stability.
Another significant consequence of colonial history is the global imbalance in economic development. Many regions that were colonized were integrated into global trade structures primarily as exporters of raw materials rather than as fully developed economies. As a result, wealth was continuously drained from these regions while local infrastructure remained underdeveloped. Even after gaining independence, many countries have inherited fragile economic systems that struggle to compete in the global market.
These historical processes also shape how migration is perceived today. Migrants from formerly colonized regions are often viewed through stereotypes rooted in historical narratives of inequality and dependency. These perceptions influence political debates and media portrayals. Migration itself, however, is also an expression of agency; people migrate not only out of necessity but also out of hope, ambition, and the desire for security and dignity.
Understanding this structural context is crucial for interpreting depictions of migration in film, as it shows that individual stories are always linked to larger historical forces.
"His House" is a powerful film by Bol and Rial that follows two refugees from South Sudan as they try to build a new life on the outskirts of London. They are haunted not only by the traumas of their past but also by Racism bureaucratic pressure and the constant fear of deportation. In addition, something eerie begins to appear in their new home. This combination of psychological, social, and supernatural horror creates a multi-layered portrayal of displacement that transcends traditional genre boundaries.
The house itself becomes a central symbol. It is not only a place of refuge but also a psychological space where memory, guilt, and fear take on a physical form. Every corner of the house reflects emotional tension. The walls seem to absorb trauma rather than offer safety. This deconstructs the concept of “home,” as physical arrival does not automatically mean emotional security.
A central theme of the film is the guilt of the survivor. Bol and Rial are not only fleeing violence but also bear the burden of those who did not survive. These memories appear in a fragmented and unsettling form that blurs the line between reality and hallucination. The supernatural presence in the film should not be understood as an external evil but rather as a manifestation of internal psychological conflicts. Trauma becomes visible through apparitions that embody memory and remorse.
The film also criticizes institutional systems such as asylum procedures and housing authorities. These systems are portrayed as cold and mechanical because they focus more on control than on humanity. The characters must constantly justify their existence, which intensifies their emotional strain. At the same time, they experience everyday racism in their new environment, which deepens their sense of isolation.
By combining elements of horror with social realism, the film shows that trauma does not end with migration but continues to unfold in new environments. Survival itself can have emotional consequences that are just as distressing as the original experience of violence.
Atlantics is Mati Diop’s directorial debut and won the Grand Prix at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival. With its dreamlike visual style and haunting soundtrack, the film blurs the lines between a love story, a supernatural tale, and social commentary. At the center of the story is Ada, a young woman from Senegal who is torn between societal expectations and her personal desires. Her emotional world is shaped by economic pressures, cultural traditions, and the absence of those who have left in search of better opportunities.
The ocean plays a central symbolic role. It is both a boundary and a passage. For many, it represents hope for a better future; at the same time, however, it is a place of disappearance and loss. People who attempt to cross it often do not survive, and their absence leaves emotional and economic voids in their communities. The sea thus becomes a metaphor for migration itself—unpredictable, dangerous, and full of longing.
If the men in the film do not survive their journey, their return in supernatural form leads to a new interpretation of presence and absence. They are not simply ghosts in the traditional sense, but representations of unresolved social and emotional conditions. Their return breaks down the boundary between life and death and shows that migration leaves traces that cannot be erased even after physical disappearance.
Class structures are also central to the narrative. Economic inequality determines access to opportunities, relationships, and future prospects. Ada’s life is shaped by expectations directly linked to financial stability and social status. The film shows how individual aspirations are often limited by economic reality, particularly in contexts where migration appears to be the only escape from poverty.
As a result, *Atlantics* becomes a meditation on loss—both personal and collective. It shows that migration is not only a physical journey but also an emotional turning point that transforms entire communities.
Both films share thematic overlaps but express them through different cinematic languages. *His House* uses enclosed spaces and psychological horror to depict trauma that has been internalized and repressed. *Atlantics* uses open spaces and imagery of the ocean to explore longing, absence, and unresolved grief. One film confines its characters, while the other spreads emotions across a vast landscape.
The use of supernatural elements also differs significantly. In *His House*, hauntings are closely linked to guilt and psychological breakdown. In *Atlantics*, the return of the dead is linked to memory, love, and the inability of economic systems to completely erase human bonds. Both approaches demonstrate that supernatural storytelling can express social reality rather than replace it.
The cinematography accentuates these differences. The dark, cramped interiors in *His House* heighten feelings of fear and psychological pressure, while the soft, fluid imagery in *Atlantics* creates a dreamlike atmosphere that reflects the emotional ambiguity. Sound also plays a central role in both films, guiding the audience through psychological and visual experiences.
Together, these films demonstrate how cinema can translate complex global issues such as migration and inequality into emotional and symbolic narratives. They show that trauma is not merely something that happened in the past, but something that continues to shape present-day reality through memory, space, and narrative.
When I watch movies that deal with these kinds of topics, I always wonder who is telling these stories, who benefits from them, and who is missing from the narrative. Both films answer these questions by focusing on perspectives that are often marginalized in mainstream cinema.
They give voice to experiences of displacement, economic insecurity, and emotional loss, while at the same time showing that these characters are complex and human. These are not merely stories of victimhood, but portrayals of people with desires, contradictions, and the capacity to act. At the same time, the films challenge the audience to reflect on the global systems that generate inequality and forced migration.
Have you seen these movies? If you’re interested in thought-provoking cinema that explores the trauma of migration and class in an emotional and profound way, these two films are definitely worth watching. They don’t offer easy answers, but rather open up a space for reflection on how global history shapes personal lives in invisible yet profound ways.
https://www.unhcr.org/refugee-statistics
https://www.dw.com/en/colonial-legacy-where-do-africas-treasures-belong/video-57318509
https://publications.iom.int/system/files/pdf/global_migration_indicators_2018.pdf
https://www.theguardian.com/film/2019/dec/01/atlantics-review-mati-diop-dakar-love-story-senegal
